


A Comfortable Place in the Galaxy

by kazmir



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Anakin Skywalker, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Intersex Obi-Wan Kenobi, M/M, Omega Obi-Wan Kenobi, Possessive Behavior, Suitless Darth Vader, Vaderwan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazmir/pseuds/kazmir
Summary: The crew of bounty hunters assembled before Vader dispersed, streaming towards the grand palace doors in a panicked flurry.“Not you, Kenobi,” Vader snapped.Kenobi turned on his heel to face him. He held his body in a tensed line, but Vader was not fooled. In the Force, the dull, muted pulse of Kenobi’s signature was absent any terror. It was equal parts fascinating and infuriating.Darth Vader is the Empire's fist. Kenobi is the bounty hunter he hires out to do his dirty work.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Vader
Comments: 38
Kudos: 312





	1. Chapter 1

The IG droid’s body crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Vader unclenched his fist, then, and eased back on the throne. He couldn’t help but revel a bit in the stink of tumultuous fear wafting up from his palace guards and the bounty hunters amassed in the center of the audience chamber. The room was deathly silent and still, except for the fierce beat pounding wildly in his throat and the shattered robotic parts sparking and hissing in the smoking pile at his feet.

“I hope no others here suffer from such faulty wiring as our departed IG has,” Vader said, evenly. “Anyone, or _thing_ , caught aiding the rebels or the Jedi are traitors to the Galactic Empire. It is treason and a crime punishable by death. Do not disappoint me again. You are dismissed.”

The motley crew of bounty hunters assembled before him dispersed immediately, streaming towards the grand doors in a near-panicked flurry of clanking armor and weaponry.

“Not you, Kenobi,” Vader snapped.

Kenobi, the only human in the group, turned on his heel to face him. He held his body in a tensed line, but Vader was not fooled. In the Force, the dull, muted pulse of Kenobi’s signature was absent the terror that had gripped the others so tightly. It was equal parts fascinating and infuriating, the unshakable nature of this omega bounty hunter.

He’d always been both fascinating and infuriating, from the moment Vader had first laid eyes upon him, so unlike the unwashed, uncultured scum the commanders at the ISB tended to contract out to capture their most wanted. 

Kenobi was beautiful, lithe and lean in the way most omegas were, but there was a sharpness set deep in his face and wrought into the lines around his eyes and mouth, a hardened edge one would not find in the faces of Coruscant’s high society, the ones who shared his designation and flittered around on the periphery, all vying for a spot in the Emperor’s expanding retinue.

He spoke like one of them, too, a member of the elite. A courtier, perhaps, or a diplomat. If Vader’s own agents hadn’t pulled Kenobi up from the dregs of Imperial City’s lowest levels, Vader would almost think he’d been one of them, once, before the corrupted Republic collapsed in on itself, before order was restored with the advent of the Empire.

An omega like Kenobi, young enough still and attractive by most measures, could find any number of comfortable places in the galaxy. Yet here he stood, in his filthy durasteel armor, stinking of carbon and blaster fire and the sickly scent of whatever alpha scum he’d last hauled in for Gideon’s department.

He scowled, biting into the spongy flesh of his cheek, irritated utterly by the ever-muddied scent sticking to Kenobi, irritated by the lack of fear – or _anything_ , for that matter – emitting from Kenobi’s faint presence in the Force, irritated by the proud, hard set of his sharp, smooth jaw.

Vader grasped at the arm rests, the prosthetic knuckles of his mechno hand whirring audibly at the strength of his grip, and he leaned forward, out of the shadows and into the weak Coruscanti sunlight streaming in through the transparisteel windows, deciding, in that moment, to give this aggravating bounty hunter a comfortable place in the galaxy, whether he wanted it or not.

“Have you recovered the artifact I commissioned you for?” Vader asked.

Kenobi nodded, a small tilt of the head, and said, in that Coruscanti lilt, “I have, Lord Vader.”

“Good,” Vader said. “Bring it to me.”

Kenobi shifted, hands moving up to hook around his blaster belt, and he seemed to consider the many steps leading up to the throne, and then, at the way the royal guards positioned about the chamber stiffened, perceptibly, their vibro-blades disengaged but held visibly at the ready. 

Vader waved them off with a dismissive gesture. He was the strongest Force wielder in generations, unrivalled and unbeaten by any other Force sensitive being that had ever had the misfortune of crossing his path. He was more than capable of dealing with some Force blind bounty hunter scraped up from the lower levels.

“I won’t ask again,” Vader said, impatient.

“Yes, my Lord,” Kenobi said, bowing his head slightly.

Vader watched him carefully as Kenobi ascended the steps, tugging free from a pouch on his belt a small pyramidal-shaped package wrapped in heavy paper and twine. The object within drummed with the Dark Side of the Force, muffled at first but ever louder as it grew closer to Vader’s outstretched hand. It reverberated fiercely when Kenobi placed the package in Vader’s palm, the artifact heavy and overhot.

This tiny thing, for so long thought lost to time, was now back in its rightful place. Vader cradled it in his hands, marveling at its ragged strength, then looked up the bounty hunter who’d brought it back to him. “Do you know what this is?” Vader asked, too entranced by the artifact now in his possession to worry greatly at the breathlessness of his voice.

“I do not,” Kenobi said.

“Then I will tell you. Sit,” he ordered, letting his legs fall open, pointedly, as he reclined back onto the throne.

Kenobi, who was not stupid as far as Vader could tell, did not embarrass himself by looking around for another chair. Instead, he stepped up between Vader’s feet, turned slightly, and lowered himself into Vader’s lap. He was lighter than he looked, even with all the armor ensconcing his frame. He also reeked of stale sweat and numbing suppressants and countless other alphas, but Vader crowed inwardly at the victory of it.

This close, Vader could detect the faintest scent of Kenobi’s nature, something mildly clean and razor sharp, utterly alluring. He could make out the length of his lashes, long and pale and catching in the weak light filtering in from above. Sweat-damp hair, auburn mostly and shot through with gray strands, had been pushed carelessly off Kenobi’s brow, above cheeks and a nose dusted lightly with freckles.

His eyes were a flinty blue, and he did not look away when Vader met his gaze and wrapped one arm around Kenobi’s waist. After a long, agonizing moment, Kenobi lifted his own arm, and he draped it over Vader’s shoulder, cupping the back of his neck in the palm of his gloved hand.

Vader gritted his teeth, both at the gall of Kenobi’s move, his daring to touch him so readily, and at the ease with which he did it. He dug the metal fingers of his prosthetic into the hard muscle and flesh above Kenobi’s hip, tugging him in closer in one swift movement, missing not at all the sharp sound of something swallowed back in Kenobi’s throat, or the slightest flare of his nostrils as Kenobi scented him.

Briefly, Vader wondered if Kenobi felt drawn by what he found there, in Vader’s scent, unadulterated as it was by junk suppressants and rut-killing injections, if Kenobi found them as compatible as the fire burning in Vader’s blood and in his gut led him to think they possibly were.

His fingers spasmed at the thought of it, their… _compatibility_. How it would look to lay this omega bounty hunter out on this very pedestal, stripped bare beneath the sunlight. How it would feel to fuck into him, hold him down and knot him right there, in the shadow of his utilitarian throne, before his royal guards. How Kenobi’s blood would taste flooding his mouth as he tore into and marked forever the smooth plane of his throat.

Fingers threaded up into the hair at the nape of his neck, then, bringing him out of his thoughts and back into the present. Vader looked up, unsettled almost to find Kenobi’s hard, icy gaze trained on him, unwavering. The hold he had on Kenobi’s waist tightened, probably painful, if the twitch at the corner of Kenobi’s eye was any indication.

Or, maybe it was because Vader – unknowingly, somewhere lost in his own mind– had dropped the artifact entirely, his organic hand having found its way to the bony juncture of Kenobi’s knee, fingers pressed deep into the soft flesh where thigh met calve.

He loosened his grip but didn’t remove it. He slid it upwards until the fabric beneath his fingers felt hot and damp, and Kenobi’s hold on his neck tightened. Vader felt nothing in the Force, then, not lust or fear or anything else. But oh, he could feel it, the way Kenobi’s legs shifted open, just the slightest. Could feel it in the slick dampness beneath his fingers, bled through the inseam of Kenobi’s trousers.

“Tell me,” Kenobi said, low and rough, breath hot on Vader’s face, “Tell me what it is you sent me after.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Lord Vader.”

Vader smirked, never growing tired of the sound of his title in this infuriating man’s mouth. “Do you care?” he asked.

“No.” And Kenobi arched, only a bit, and Vader’s thumb brushed, just barely, the sopping cloth at his core. Breathless, almost, Kenobi said, “But there was a woman who guarded it –”

“A woman,” Vader cut in, and cupped Kenobi’s groin.

Kenobi gasped, a short, soft inhale when Vader flattened out his hand, pressed the heel of his palm into the juncture between his thighs, and held it there, stilled. “Yes. She was old. Infirm. She died proudly. And easily.”

“My little Jedi killer,” Vader cooed. “How did it feel?”

Kenobi didn’t answer, but he did pull sharply on the short hairs at the nape of Vader’s neck. A warning, perhaps, or something else. Vader laughed, and then fell silent when Kenobi pulled away, fumbling at the closure to his trousers, tearing them open and grasping Vader’s hand in a vise-grip and sliding it inside.

He was already so very wet, Vader discovered, and Kenobi’s breath stuttered as Vader ran his fingers across his slick folds, through the vee of damp, wiry-soft hair, and up to rest on the hard planes of his lower abdomen. Kenobi made a frustrated sound, and Vader’s lip curled, feeling especially cruel despite the pounding pulse in his throat, the burn in his blood to take and mark and claim. “Tell me what you want,” he said, “and perhaps I will give it to you.”

“Intragalactic peace,” Kenobi said, then tilted his head back and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is a little sloppy and maybe a little rushed at the end, but I thought I'd try my hand at some world-building. Most of all, I wanted to clear it out of my 'wip' folder.
> 
> I'm [kazmirone](https://kazmirone.tumblr.com) on tumblr. I post snippets of stuff I may or may not finish in the future, lol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader and his bounty hunter come to a different arrangement.

The air was hot and brutally humid on the wretched tropical moon Vader had been sent to. The system’s massive star baked him where he stood on the parade grounds, heat sticking to his heavy, dark capes, to the utterly useless durasteel chest plate and vambraces.

He did not particularly care for being the face of this new, great Empire, but neither did he particularly care for the consequences when he bucked the responsibility. It had taken several days to fix his mechnoarm after his last transgression. Force lightning and ultra-fine electronics did not good bedfellows make.

Beside him, the moon’s governor droned on about trade routes and union problems. The governor was a sweaty, nervous man, and the spiking emotion bleeding off him was giving Vader a splitting headache. His fingers itched to draw his saber and run the stupid man through with it. It would greatly displease his military advisors in attendance, but the silence would be blissful.

Flanking his other side was Captain Gideon, there to oversee the ceremony recognizing the official opening of the newest Imperial training academy. It was not just companies of fresh cadets who marched in cadence past them for review, but entire brigades of troopers. High above, TIE squadrons whirred by in formation, blurs of black against the cloudless, blue skies.

Shows of force, the Emperor called it.

A waste of time was what they really were, Vader thought bitterly, as the final battalion of deathtroopers marched past them in crisp, neat columns. 

The drum corps fell silent at last to signal the end of the parade, and the governor and his retinue all clapped politely and chattered about the reception, where luscious foods and iced drinks were waiting for their little, grubby fingers to snatch up.

Vader turned to Gideon. “See that my shuttle is prepared.”

“Right away, my Lord,” Gideon said, pulling a comlink from his belt. “Will you be attending the reception?”

Vader could think of countless things he would much rather attend to, but his master had made it abundantly clear during their last congress that his place as Sidious’ apprentice was ever a tenuous one, no matter Vader’s supposed prophesied existence. His leaving prematurely would not be well-received. “Yes,” he gritted out.

Gideon nodded slightly, then muttered something into his comlink to the royal guards stationed around the parade grounds. Vader watched irritably as the red-clad soldiers swiftly fell into formation around him. 

He allowed himself to be led by them into a building nearby. It was noticeably cooler in the building, but his lip curled up in disgust at the sudden wave of cloying scents. 

Top government officials and their hangers-on flitted past him in droves, stinking of alpha and heavy omegan perfumes, of sweetened liquors and rich foodstuffs. He would prefer to burn under the sun than spend another moment in this cesspit of Imperial sycophants and social climbers.

Gideon ushered him to the back of the room, where the moon’s governor and some high-ranking Imperial strategist – Tarkin, sharp and cruel and an agent of Sidious’ if there ever was one – sat at a high table, talking amongst themselves.

Tarkin bowed his head in mock deference when Vader took his place at his side. “Lord Vader,” he said.

Vader sneered. “General Tarkin.”

Tarkin smiled coldly and turned his attentions back to the governor, dismissing Vader entirely. 

Vader’s fists clenched beneath the table. 

He turned his attention to the decadent spread before him. His stomach churned terribly at the sight of it, piles of greasy meats and cheeses, bowls of vegetables and fruits of all variants and colors, jugs of iced wine and other alcohols. 

He would touch none of it, too used to the bland rations he’d subsisted on for so long. Too used to the threat of poison to savor even a single bite of it. He would eat later, in the relative safety of his shuttle, away from the stinking masses clambering for their places at the tables below.

Tarkin seemed intent not to draw him into whatever conversation he was having with the governor, so Vader surveyed Gideon as the security officer haunted the grand hall, moving through the crowd like smoke.

Watching Gideon, Vader supposed, was the only reason he managed to spot Kenobi.

The bounty hunter’s Force signature was muted as ever, especially in the midst of the large crowd where he was surrounded by hundreds of glinting lights burning dark and bright in the Force.

Vader leaned forward in his chair and watched as Gideon drifted past Kenobi, tucked away as he was in a darker corner of the hall. Kenobi’s head tilted up, and for a fraction of a moment, Vader felt the bounty hunter’s eyes on him before his gaze shifted back to the security officer.

Kenobi pushed off the wall and fell into step behind Gideon. He looked wildly out of place in his durasteel armor and dark flight suit, yet he shifted easily through the throngs of dress uniforms and elaborate gowns.

Together, Gideon and Kenobi exited the hall.

Vader stood, something dark and cruel unraveling in his core.

“Leaving so soon, Vader?” drawled Tarkin.

Vader scowled at the man’s insolence. He shot him a dark look, then turned on his heel to follow Gideon and Kenobi out. The crowd parted around him nervously, and he ground his teeth when he sensed the royal guards dogging his steps.

As if he could not defend himself. As if he were something in need of protection.

He snarled at them, drawing them up short at the doors.

Darth Vader did not need minders.

What he needed was to know why his security officer had seen fit to abscond with _his_ bounty hunter.

It was hotter now with the sun directly overhead, but Vader hardly felt anything over his rising pulse. He caught up with them at the edge of the nearest landing pad, where a single, gleaming gunship was parked amid the mass of TIE fighters and Lambda-class shuttles.

“Captain Gideon,” Vader said, dark and low, stalking up behind them on feet far quieter than his heavy armor and swathes of capes ought to have allowed.

Gideon’s back stiffened visibly, but only for a fleeting second, and he fell to attention. Kenobi tracked Gideon’s movement with an arched brow, cradling his blaster rifle to his chest like it was a child before he turned his gaze onto Vader.

Vader glared back. He did not look away from Kenobi’s face when he addressed Gideon, “Is there a security concern I should be made aware of, Captain?”

“No, Lord Vader.”

“Then you will explain the necessity of this meeting,” Vader demanded.

Kenobi shifted. “My Lord, I –-”

“I did not ask you, _bounty hunter_ ,” Vader spat.

There was a flare of annoyance in the Force, then. From whom, Vader could not identify. He couldn’t think beyond the rage boiling over in his gut, couldn’t think past the sharp dig of nails into the palm of his hand, piercing through the thick leather of his gloves.

“Lord Vader,” Gideon said, “This bounty hunter has apprehended an Imperial deserter with known ties to the burgeoning rebellion. I am verifying the traitor’s genetic signature, then retrieving the carbonite slab for further transport to Wobani.”

“And you felt today was appropriate for such an exchange?” Vader asked, positively venomous.

“I was in the neighborhood, as they say,” Kenobi cut in, calmly.

Vader glowered, leaning in over the omega and casting his shadow across Kenobi’s upturned face. “Fine,” Vader snapped, fixated on the twist of Kenobi’s obnoxiously plush mouth. “Captain Gideon, retrieve your fugitive and return to the hall.”

“At once, my Lord.”

Kenobi made to follow Gideon up the ramp into the ship, but Vader caught his wrist in a bruising grip and pulled him back to him, unwilling to give these two even another moment alone. 

For several long moments, they stood there under the scorching sun, Kenobi staring into the darkened depths of his ship, Vader staring at the sweat-damp curve of Kenobi’s neck, feeling at the steady – always so steady – pulse in Kenobi’s strong, delicate wrist.

Gideon said nothing as he brought the carbonite slab down the ramp and pushed past them towards the grand halls. Faintly, Vader registered his unease. He was right to be uneasy, Vader thought coolly. They would be having a conversation later. It would not be a pleasant one.

Kenobi twisted in Vader’s grip. Though he loathed to unhand him, Vader loosened his tight grasp. Kenobi pulled away from him with a sharp tug and stalked up the loading ramp.

Vader followed.

Of course, he did.

It had been months since he had last seen Kenobi, since that day in the throne room when Kenobi had laughed in his face and asked for the impossible. He had laughed all the way down the steps and out the palace doors. Vader should have killed him for it, should have cleaved his pretty head from his shoulders for it. Instead, he had sat there, burning fiercely, as Kenobi’s slick dried on his fingers.

The memory of it had not faded.

“It is a fine ship,” Vader said. And it was, though Vader could scarcely appreciate it, not enveloped as he was by Kenobi’s scent. It clung to every surface of the tidy vessel – clean and warm and deadly sharp. Polluted by the stench of suppressants, but distinctly omega.

“I have worked hard for it,” Kenobi said.

“The Empire pays well,” Vader said.

“I do not work only for the Empire,” Kenobi replied. He moved to a panel box by the ramp mechanism and flipped a switch, flooding the hold in halogen lights. He looked ghostly beneath the harsh lighting, wan and beautiful.

Vader knew this, but it irritated him, nevertheless. “The Guild, then.”

“Yes, the Guild. And other parties.” Kenobi toggled another switch, then slammed the panel box shut. “When the job is worth my time.”

The ramp began to close. 

Vader felt no alarm or threat in the Force, so he simply watched it happen. If he had to, he would draw his saber. If he had to, he would strike him down. But he did not think he would have to. Kenobi had granted him entrance, let him inside his space. There, Vader would stay, until he was given reason not to.

“You seem to make time for Gideon,” Vader seethed.

Kenobi leaned up against the hull, eyeing him. “It would be financially unwise to pass up an ISB contract.”

“And my jobs,” Vader said. “Are they worth your time?”

“Your jobs are _always_ worth my time, Lord Vader.”

Vader exhaled, thinking nothing of the shakiness of it. “Then perhaps we should discuss a different arrangement.”

“A different arrangement…” Kenobi pushed off the hull and skirted past him, further into the ship. Vader very nearly reached out to him, but something stayed his hand. “It sounds like you are asking for an exclusive contract.”

“I do not _ask_ for anything, Kenobi,” Vader shot back, trailing the bounty hunter to the doorway of a small ‘fresher.

“No, I suppose the great Sith Lord Darth Vader never would.”

“Careful, bounty hunter,” Vader warned, his sudden anger a palpable thing.

Kenobi bowed his head slightly as he said, “Please accept my apologies, my Lord.”

He did not look sorry at all.

Vader shouldered his way into the small space, looming over him like a dark, wrathful shadow. Kenobi met his eyes in the mirror, startling not at all by Vader’s continued intrusion. In fact, Vader noticed through the haze of his own tangled emotion, he seemed almost to lean back into it.

“I will pay you triple the Guild rates,” Vader said. “In return, you will accept only the contracts I personally provide you with. You will no longer take requests from the ISB.”

“And if I should refuse?” Kenobi asked, lightly.

Vader crowded in behind him, finally, and curled his arms around his waist. Kenobi’s breath hitched, the smallest sound, as he was tugged back firmly into Vader’s chest. Vader smirked. He kept his eyes trained on Kenobi’s in the mirror while he nosed his next words into sweat-darkened hair. “It would be…financially unwise.”

“In that case,” Kenobi began, shifting more of his weight onto Vader’s body, “I accept your arrangement.”

This infuriating omega, answering to him and him alone.

Letting him into his ship, his territory.

Letting him into his body…

Vader burned at the memory, fingers twitching where they dug into the hard flesh beneath Kenobi’s armor, remembering every detail of that brief moment. He would have it again, if Kenobi let him. He would take him apart with his hands every day, his mouth, his cock. He would live, always, with the taste of Kenobi’s slick on his tongue.

He pushed it into the Force between them, his lust and possession and simmering rage, tearing open a conduit to channel it all into Kenobi’s mind, to make him feel all that Vader felt.

Kenobi shuddered. 

His head fell against Vader’s shoulder, and Vader felt the hot, wet pant of his breath on his throat. His flinty eyes were dark and gleaming where they met Vader’s in the mirror. Deep color stained his cheeks, visible even under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“Vader,” Kenobi said, not quite breathless but a close enough thing. Close enough that Vader could feel his breaths grow shallower, through even the two layers of durasteel plating separating their bodies. 

The omega pushed back against him, grinding into Vader’s rapidly hardening cock. The scent of clean heat and sweet slick was overpowering now, in the small space. Vader burned with it but did not yet give.

“If you want something, Kenobi,” Vader rumbled, pressing his palm to Kenobi’s heaving lower abdomen but going no further, “Then you had better ask for it.”

“And you’ll give it to me? If I ask for it?”

Vader drew his teeth across the tip of Kenobi’s ear, luxuriating in the way Kenobi rolled his ass against him in response. “It depends on what you ask for,” he responded, rolling with him.

A gloved hand covered his own, then, and Kenobi growled. 

“Your hand,” Kenobi grit out. “I want your fingers.”

“And where do you –-”

“In my cunt,” Kenobi snapped, utterly unwilling to be teased. “Don’t be so obtuse.”

Vader laughed. “That I can give you.”

“Then give it,” Kenobi said. _Demanded_.

Vader wasted no time.

He yanked his hand out from under Kenobi’s, feeling blindly for the closure of his flight suit. Kenobi hissed when Vader slid his fingers through the pool of slick soaking his cunt. Force, he was wet. Absolutely sodden.

Vader could have purred, would have maybe, if he hadn’t latched onto the shell of Kenobi’s ear, holding the fragile cartilage between sharp teeth with a gentleness he didn’t necessarily care to give.

He kicked one of Kenobi’s booted feet to the side, forcing the omega’s legs further apart, ignoring completely the indignant growl he got for it, flattening out his fingers and running them across Kenobi’s sopping core.

The feel of his slick sliding across Vader’s hand, the obscene sound of it squelching between his fingers, the gritted moan when his pointer found the engorged nub of Kenobi’s clit and circled it, again and again, slow and fast and slow again.

Kenobi shuddered, his gloved hand gripping the back of Vader’s thigh, breath fast and shallow, and Vader glanced up into the mirror to watch him fall apart. One plush lip bit hard between his teeth, hair falling across his damp brow, eyes screwed tightly shut.

Unacceptable.

Vader ground his aching cock into the cleft of Kenobi’s ass and stilled his stroking fingers. “Look at me,” he snarled into Kenobi’s ear. “Look at me while I do this to you.”

Fingers dug painfully into the flesh of Vader’s thigh, but Kenobi’s eyes – icy and dark – met his in their shared reflection.

“Good,” Vader praised, and slid two fingers into that tight, dripping cunt.

Silky muscle clenched around him, and Vader’s blood burned thinking how it would feel taking his cock someday, how good and right, fitting together the way they were meant to be.

Superheated by his thoughts, he curled his fingers then, and fucked them into Kenobi. Merciless, fast and hard, until the omega in the cage of his arms was left gasping at the pace of it, until the only sounds Vader could hear over his own ragged breath was the slap of his palm against the fleshy mound of Kenobi’s pubis, until that tight heat around his fingers fluttered and spasmed and Kenobi was shaking apart under his hand.

Vader drew his hand from out and up, across that swollen clit, smiling cruelly when Kenobi twitched violently, oversensitive. He brought his hand, dripping wet, up to his mouth, licking entirely clean the exquisite slickness there as he rutted up against Kenobi’s ass.

Kenobi bowed against him, arching his back even in the aftermath of his climax, a proper omega. Presenting so sweetly. Just for him, only for him.

Eyes fixed on Kenobi’s in the mirror, Vader came hard in frenzied thrusts, spilling shamelessly into his ceremonial garb, dizzied by the scent of sex, by the sweet taste of Kenobi’s slick heavy on his tongue.

For a moment, Vader just breathed, warm and heavy against the curve of Kenobi’s damp throat, heated by the weight of Kenobi’s body pressing into his, skin prickling as the ship’s central air dried the sweat on the back of his neck.

For a moment, Vader saw a strange clarity in Kenobi’s eyes, followed by a pulse of something slippery and undefinable and unknowable in the Force.

But only for a moment.

Vader pushed the bounty hunter off him and broke their jointed stare to straighten his armor and capes. Kenobi turned and watched him do it, silent save for the unsteadied rasp of his breath.

“Coruscant,” Vader said, voice rough as gravel. “Two days. Do not make me wait.”

Sated but unsettled, Vader stalked from the ship and out into the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
